The Habits of My Heart
by SingleHearts
Summary: "Only monsters kill for pleasure," I could hear my dad's voice echoing over and over. "Those who kill for pleasure are no humans," and I know he is right because suddenly I'm running on four paws howling into the night with the taste of innocent blood in my tongue.
1. Chapter 1

**I promised I would continue this if people liked it, and I am working on it. I went back and revised or rewrote some of the sections of the first chapter; I don't think i did much but i hope you like this version a bit more. **

**Again please review, it helps to know that people are reading and enjoying this. Thank you and Happy Holidays! =)**

The trembling doesn't end; it's a constant uncomfortable vibration running through her limbs. Nothing feels the same, the smell and the air, the tongue in her mouth, it is all so foreign. _You were human once_. She was, she was human once a long time ago, but she isn't anymore.

She sits quietly, waiting. They told her to be patient, "You need to stop running out the door every time you get the chance," they said. So now she sits here, restrained by her own stubbornness, looking out a window-waiting. _I can wait_. She keeps telling herself. _I CAN WAIT_.

The woman comes and goes, like the light that seeps through the glass, but she wants her permanently gone. "Who are you waiting for?" The woman keeps on asking, she smells of onions and berries, of acrid pinecones that are left to decompose on the soil ground. She wants her gone, but every day the woman comes back with a fresh overdose of overpowering smells and the same list of questions: "What do you miss? What are you looking for? Where were you all these years?" She often has the urge to bare her fangs and bite down on her slim neck until it cracks; if she would only ask about where to get the best catch, or where the water taste sweeter in the river bank. Yet, the woman asks all these stupid questions that she cannot and does not know how to answer.

She keeps fidgeting with the sleeves of the sweater, pulling them farther out, hoping it could stop the cold from getting in. _It's not the same; it's not my fur coat. _She buries her fingers in the tresses that tangle on her head, _this is not me_. _It's not the same. They took it away from me._ Anger ignites like a flame, sparking itself within her chest and she has to focus on the way the leaves dance with the wind before she catches in flames.

"Malia? Who are you waiting for?" she forces her stare away from the woods that sit quietly outside the window and onto the woman's eyes. "Malia?" the woman is always forcing her to talk, to open her mouth and produce sounds that she hasn't formed in years. If the woman only knew how difficult it was, how the sounds made her throat dry, and the words rolled awkwardly in her tongue, making her lips sore. If she only knew how much Malia hated talking. "For them. I'm waiting for them," she replies slowly and with much effort. "Who is them?" the woman is always asking questions, doesn't she know? They had brought her to Malia because they had all said that she would know. The woman would know what was wrong, and she would help her. Yet, the woman is always asking questions as if Malia had all the answers. She doesn't like her, she is useless.

She turns back to staring out the window, tuning out the woman's voice the best she can. The sun is setting, and Malia starts thinking about running through the woods on her four paws. She starts thinking how the breeze always felt just right, rippling through her fur, cutting sweetly into her skin making her blood pump even faster. She was free, she used to be free. A shiver runs through her body again, cold being a new found enemy to her, and breaks her out of her thoughts. Malia clutches onto the sweater, pulling the sleeves further. She hates this human skin; it does nothing to protect her. Her fur coat would always keep her warm; she had never been in need of these bothersome layers.

Night creeps in the room like a shadow, and suddenly she feels emptier and colder. She would be in her den now, curled up in the earth, content with the days kill. Malia wraps her new encountered arms around her clumsy but strong legs, pressing them hard against her chest, trying her best at providing a form of protection to her vulnerable form. She hates it here, it's cold and the stench is almost unbearable. It stinks like rotten meat, like dampness, like something that has been left abandoned for years and is slowly rotting away. She wants to go back home; she wants to be alone, but not here, not in this skin, not like this.

She buries her face between her shaking knees and forces her lids shut. Malia knows she won't be going home tonight so she has to rest here once again.

"You have to sleep, you have to rest," it's all she hears from them the next morning. They have found her sitting on that old chair staring out the window for over 3 mornings now. But Malia does rest, she closes her eyes and rests, but they say otherwise. They point to a bed, "Malia you need to sleep." Malia grimaces at the thing that looks nothing like her den, it's a bundle of blue blankets hovering a few feet above the ground. She had once appreciated the softness of the blue that reminded her of the skies; she had once loved how that blue felt so soft against her skin keeping her safe and warm throughout the night. Yet, now it reminds her of the things she did and the people she lost, and all feeling of comfort is completely gone.

Malia gets up from her spot, and walks past the pair standing by the doorway, not bothering to look at them. She knows her way around this house, years have passed since she's last walked on these wooden boards with her human feet, but she can still remember the way the floorboards creak every time she steps too close to the walls. Her stomach grumbles and she heads for the kitchen, the place she knows will feed her untamed hunger.

The kitchen used to be her favorite place, she remembers, it was always filled with sound. It was always warm, it always smelled good and it always had _her_ dancing around. She stays far away from this room as much as possible now, only comes down when it is absolutely necessary- when her body demands its fresh kill.

The first time they had asked her what she wanted to eat she said rabbit. They laughed, and then they never spoke again the whole night. They gave her spaghetti instead; it had felt weird for Malia to eat that type of food again. She had forgotten how good it tasted in its own special way. Still, fresh rabbit would have made a better meal in her opinion. This morning as all the past mornings she eats cereal. The only food she can remember eating so often before she found a new obsessions for deer and rabbit meat.

"Malia."

Every time she hears his voice it makes her want to run out the door. It makes her want to dig a hole and hide. _How could they stand to listen to him?_ His voice hurts her, it's pain, it's a constant shot of pain with each syllable. "Malia, I think it has been enough already."

His tone is harsher than usual and Malia has the sudden urge to flee the room, the house.

"You won't tell us where you been, you won't tell us what happened to you, what happened that night. You won't talk to me, or to her. I- you- You just refuse to talk!"

She is searching around, desperately guarding her gaze onto different corners of the room, _where to run if he- where to hide if he-_

"Malia! You need to tell us! You need to tell me! Tell me right now!"

Maybe if she runs, maybe if she runs into the woods again, maybe they could find her again.

"Malia! Look at me!"

She could make it, she could make it to the door, she can still run, she can do it.

"Malia! I said look at me!"

Suddenly he is there, standing right in front her, bloodshot eyes drilling holes into her skull. Malia refuses to look at him, so he grabs onto her arms, squeezing tightly as he shakes hers.

The stench is stronger than before, it reeks of everything she hates, and of all the things she fought hard to forget-guilt and regret. _I need to get out now before-_

"Why are you here and not them!"

Suddenly it's back, that darkness that she had fought so hard to push in the back of her mind, is now glowing vividly at the front of her memories. It had taken her years, years to make it disappear and now it's back. It comes back with full force, so strong that it leaves her breathless, and suddenly she is there, back again with her mother and sister.

_She is there again, in the car with her sister and mother. She's mad, so angry at her mother but she can't remember why. The anger just intensifies by the minute, and she can feel her little sister staring at her. She wants her to stop, suddenly she's angry at her too. So angry that she wants to hurt her sister, hurt them both. "Stop. Stop!" and she can hear her sister crying, she can smell her fear. It is all enticing, and she wants more. She wants to feel more. She can see her mother's terrified eyes through the rearview mirror; she can feel the car swerving. She can hear her sister's screams, her screams so loud she could feel them clawing at her temples. Her mother's screams and wails drive her to the edge and she wants to stick her fingernails into her skin, it is such an intense itch. She could still hear them screaming and the air is filled with the scent of terror and pain, and she wants more and more, until it stops. Until she tastes acridness in her mouth-something metallic. Until she sees the blood everywhere, dripping from the car seats. Until she notices the claw marks carved on the ceiling of the car, on the car seats, and on the doors. Until she see her sister's huge lifeless dark brown eyes staring at her, and her mother covered in blood. That is when she realizes her hands and the length of her nails, when she feels her teeth digging into her bottom lip, when she sees blood, their blood all over her. And then she runs, she runs and runs and she doesn't look back because she knows what she's done. "Only monsters kill for pleasure," she could hear her dad's voice echoing over and over. "Those who kill for pleasure are no humans," and she knows he is right because suddenly she is running on four paws howling into the night with the taste of innocent blood on her tongue._

"Aaaaargghhhh!" Malia pushes him with all the human strength she has. Her vision is blurry, knees week and body trembling uncontrollably as she tries to make it to the door. "Malia!" the cold air covers her like a blanket, but she forgets all about it as she hears him getting closer. Malia runs again, runs like the animal she is, straight into the woods. But the ground doesn't feel that safe under her feet, the chill air doesn't caress her the same way, the woods don't invite her in like they had once done.

She is breathless, her skin burning from the scratches she received of broken branches. Her body won't stop shaking and her lungs feel like they have been set on fire. She can't hear him anymore; she can't hear her dad calling out her name and the beating of her heart settles into a more rhythmic pace. Malia looks out into the woods and the image of her den flashes in her mind. _Home, I can go back home_. She starts walking deeper into the woods, clutching onto every tree trunk she passes. Her legs feel useless to her when she knows it is faster to run on four, steadier to stand on four, but now she has to carry herself on two, and she is finding it hard to balance on these forest floors.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally catches glimpse of her small den, but something stops her before she can get any closer; a painful smell that makes her eyes watery and her throat itch. The stench is all around her den, and Malia knows she won't be able to stand it if she stayed there. She can't get any closer without coughing uncontrollably. She is just about to turn away when she hears something, a cry. Malia turns back and squints with watery eyes trying to get a glimpse of any intruder. She catches a movement but she is sure it isn't an animal. She tries to catch a scent but with the awful smell and her useless human nose it is impossible.

Suddenly, Malia hears branches breaking and leaves crackling, the sounds growing louder as they appear to get closer. She looks once again and sees a man and a woman run towards her den. Malia panics and begins to run for the opposite direction, frightened that her father had sent them. She doesn't want to go back; she doesn't want to go back into that house, not with him.

She is running as fast as her unaccustomed human legs can carry her, tripping on roots and stumbling through leaves. As she runs, she hears the woman yelling out the same thing over and over, "Stiles! Stiles!" The yells eventually fade as she runs further into the woods, but the word keeps on echoing in her head. "Stiles," she tries it out slowly, letting each sound linger carefully in her mouth before sending it out into the cold night. She thinks about what it could mean, but forgets about it when she realizes that her vocabulary only reaches that of a 9 year old.


	2. Chapter 2

**I never forgot about this fic, never. I also promised a wonderful reviewer that I would continue it, and I had that in mind. I know its been a while, but i hope you enjoy the continuation and I also hope its kind of worth the wait. (I know its not much and I am sorry) **

**Please do review and tell me if i should continue on, if you like how this is going so far. **

**Thanks and i hope you like =) **

She wakes up to sunlight streaming through the barred window of the narrow room, and for a split second she thinks she is back home, under her fur coat, but then cold splashes her like a bucket of realization and she remembers she is still human. The natural light then becomes too much, a mocking reminder of her past, and she tries to shield her eyes from it but grunts when she is unable to do so.

Her upper chest, arms, wrists and legs are strapped down to the bed she has been laying on for an entire night and afternoon. Her wrists feel sore, and her muscles ache but she wriggles within the restraints with the failed attempt of breaking free.

Malia has been in here for no more than three days, and as much as she hates this place she already prefers it to that old house of hers.

The noise of keys rattling reaches her ears and she lifts her head to look towards the single door in the white room. Her heart begins to beat a little faster, and her human senses heighten as she waits for whatever is standing on the other side to enter her domain.

The heavy metallic door swings open and like a menacing threat stands a man in white underneath the doorway. He smiles at her, holes digging into his cheeks as his lips extend sideways. There is nothing warm or attractive about his smile and Malia snarls at him with every intention of keeping him far away from her. "Well, well the little beast rises early. Have a good night's sleep wild one?" Malia flares her nostrils as the man approaches the side of her bed. He reeks of alcohol, carrying the same stench as her father and that makes her intestines twist into a hundred knots.

He plays with his ring of keys, as he scans Malia from head to toe and back up again. The hole in his cheek growing deeper as his stare lingers on her body. Malia snarls again, writhing in the restraints as she tries to get away from the scrutiny of his eyes. "Shhhh...patience; all good things to those who wait." He leans down towards her and Malia has the urge to claw at his face, to rip his head off and stab a permanent hole in his cheek with her claw—if she had her claws. He smiles one last time before unbinding her chest and she lies perfectly still, allowing him to continue on until she is completely free from any restraint.

He is slow in releasing her from the metal bed, taking his time and humming a tune as he moves from one ankle to the next. Her flesh fills with small goose bumps as his hands hover and sweep over her body, never exactly touching her but close enough for her to feel his heat. He finally reaches her wrists, and Malia has to clench her hands into tight fists in order to keep herself from committing the same mistake she had done the day before.

She has wanted to break his bones since the first day she arrived; since the first time she saw him, as soon as she stepped in through those double doors and he was there, standing in white, smiling and scanning her like she was a new toy. He made the small hairs on her arms, sides of her face and back of her neck stand up, and even though she didn't know exactly who he was, she knew that he was danger.

The first day she kept an eye on him, keeping a safe distance as she observed him. She was analyzing him, looking for a moment of weakness, studying the way he moved and behaved. He was an enemy, and she needed to know her enemy before he attempted to attack her. She needed to be prepared. So, when he grabbed her arm right before they were being fed, she was fully prepared. She quickly turned and twisted his arm almost loosening it out of its socket.

That was the first night she spent tied up to the small metal bed, unable to move so much as an inch the whole night. The next morning he came in, whistling some tune as he unlocked the door and unbound her. Yet, Malia had enough anger boiling in her throughout the whole night that when her right arm was released she immediately reached for his throat with every intention of strangling him. But she didn't get to do much damage because she was held back by two other men that resembled so much to the bears she had often found in the woods.

They had stabbed her with a small pointy object that made her senses fuzzy and her whole body limp, and that is when she understood that fighting this man came with its consequences. So now, she fought every urge of animal instinct in her to attack, what appeared to be, her only predator in this whole building.

A low growl rumbled within her chest as he finished with the strap keeping her right arm and as much as she wished to cause fear in this man, there was no sign of it. He stepped back, crossing his arms as he looked at her, threatening her to make a move with his mocking eyes. Malia didn't move an inch, she kept perfectly still under tensed muscles and closed fists.

A slow smile crept on his face, before heading out the door and leaving the echoes of his whistling tune behind.

Malia finally relaxed, unclenching her bruising fists as she sat right up on the bed. The door to the room was left open, and her legs were yearning to hit ground and run out, but she was stopped by the pair of eyes staring at her from only a few feet across her.

They were round wide eyes, framed by a small pale face that was occasionally stricken with the expression of terror. The body that held her small skull up was nothing but frail trembling bones, and Malia grimaced at the fragile figure before her. The woman never spoke to her directly, but she often did mumble while staring onto walls and floors.

Today she was looking at Malia as a string of words left her mouth, but Malia had not been very fond of people who spoke too much so she stood up and walked out the door, leaving the mumbling woman behind her.

She tugged at the sleeves of her sweater as she stepped out of the room into the cold and empty hallways. They were dark and lifeless, but they carried faint voices and cries like a vein pumps blood right to the heart. Not a single room was left out; every prisoner lived in each other's misery and despair. It was incredible to feel alone in such a place, with the constant reminder that there is always someone else pulling at the strings of sanity. Yet, incredibly one always did—feel alone, that is.

Malia didn't care for it so much, she had learned to live in solitude during the past eight years, a few days of this was nothing—or so she told herself.

She heard footsteps going up the old spiraling stairs, mixed with the hushed rapid murmurs of the woman behind her. There were also faint voices coming from down the hallway, one that seemed quite unfamiliar to the hollow walls of the building. Yet, it echoed towards her ears and she turned her head left and right looking for any approaching figures.

Another distant voice echoed from the darkness towards her right, away from the distant figures to her left, _He's here. It's him_. She furrowed her brows, trying to focus on the faint ominous whisper that sounded so close but yet so far, but it quickly drifted, carrying its weird message with it.

The hallway suddenly felt too cold, so Malia went back into the room just so she could hear the echoes of a scream and a choking last breath seconds after. The woman opposite to her was muffling a faint cry against her pillow as she covered her ears.

It always happened like this, Meredith always screamed before the victims could take their last breath, and these past few days Malia was the one to hear death before it even arrived.

The sun had completely set outside, and moonlight was bathing the hollow room now. Meredith, her only companion in this confinement of a room, was completely silent along with the rest of the building.

Malia pulled off the covers from the bed and curled herself on the concrete floor.

She was used to being alone, listening to the haunting noises of the woods as she buried her nose in the dirt. She was used to the wild echoes of the night and the hooting of the owls as she fell into a deep sleep.

But she wasn't used to this, the whispering murmurs of a hundred frightened human souls as they fought the darkness she had so much enjoyed as an animal.

Malia will never admit it, but the humans frightened her. Their world confused her, and she had never felt so much alone as she did now, curled in a blanket under a roof with a sleeping woman beside her.

She was human, she knew that, but she also knew that she was more animal than anything else, and that was enough ease for her frightened self.


End file.
